Sunday, October 11, 2009

They all blend in together and seem to rush in together, brick, orange and rain. While I walk on extremely tangible gray stones seen through coffee mixed with bitter orange juice in perfectly melody synched deserted towns and tying a gold amulet around my neck I can feel the mad, lingering, biting, plaguing powerful feeling of wanting to lay affect like rubbing round circles on the back of your palm and toeing the first hair on your leg. That gleam makes me surge like a sandy wave filter through my porous clothes leaving a tanned sinful good feeling about my body. The dead, the nude and the fillers in the frame seem to urge me to go on because sunset is not the place to keep feeling this. Till then, colorful little washed out jaded purple cloth pieces and rusty salty iron bangles keep me busy. Buy some paper and scratch flowery curves, paper thick yellow cloth and fold it quietly into the big cloth straw bag, brown and deep red. By night time freckles and red spots make me comfortable with the skin I wear and the balmy evening's oily nudging and the book under the armpit are both in rhyme with how I may feel the best about me. It is then and only there that you may access what I want to see, show. We all three should witness the spectacle together.

Photo story

Me is

I am red and seeded. My father dreamt so much and my mother was too careful. My brother just gaped as he grew. My grandpa writes letters, my teachers rely on students, they are very apologetic as well.